The derelict shook his head in doubt, and as he did so he looked round the stateroom. His eyes picked up each article in it in a bewildered, half-familiar way.
"Yes, his son. You must have no fears. Can't you think where you are? Do try. You're aboard the bark Daphne—the Daphne."
"Daphne? Daphne?" he repeated. "No, th' Daphne wasn't there. There was th' Trenton, th' Nipsic, th' Vandalia, a Dutchmin called th' Sadler, th' Cally-ope—not Daphne." It was plain that the past was ruling his memory. "'Twas only yestiddy th' home mails come in an' brought th' 'Prince' a loikeness av his littul bhoy—littul Paul. Says th' 'Prince' t' me, 'Dan, an' 'tis home with th' littul feller I'd loike t' be.' He says that t' me, an' him th' 'first luff' an' me a common sailorman an' capt'n av th' foretop be grace av three enlistments an' sthayin' sthraight three months on ind. Now he's lyin' out there in thim God-forsaken wathers an' all because av a bloody lot av Dutchmin an' naygurs."—"Come along t' th' mass with me an' pray for God's kindness t' th' 'Prince's' sowl. Yez'll niver sail agin, my bullies, under an officher man loike 'The Prince.'"
The last was not spoken to Emily, but to men who were not in the room.
The sweet tender praise of the father of the man she loved with all the soul of her wrung tears from the listener. She could see "The Prince" showing this sailor the picture of Paul. She could hear him speaking.
"And he called you Dan—'The Prince'?" Emily managed to say and with the hope that possibly it might suggest the derelict's identity.
"Dan? T' be sure he called me Dan. 'Rid-headed bunch av sin' he called me whin I wint on th' bind. I had a thatch in thim days as rid as th' British merchant flag." A gnarled hand wandered to his bald crown and as it touched it the sailor started up. Reason seemed to have made a breach in his poor brain. He looked round the room quickly. A light of recognition dawned in his gaze. "Dan—Dan," he kept repeating. "Daniel—Daniel Mc—Mc—Mc—Daniel McGovern!"
Emily hearkened in breathlessness. She felt herself in the presence of a mystery. Paul had read her the names of the Daphne's crew from the log. "Daniel McGovern" was not one of them.
Tears coursed down the old man's cheeks. His hands trembled. His voice quavered in a childish treble. He kept on repeating the name over and over again as if he had found it after many years and was making sure that it would not escape him again.
Suddenly he caught Emily's hand and became still. He was listening.